Acceptable Bitterness

It wasn't like Ryder had never contemplated Frederick's past life before. Since becoming friends with the odd, quiet vampire, he'd wondered about a lot of stuff - like how he got Turned, and whether or not he had any living family besides Armin - but he generally didn't ask. Fred was a private person, and Ryder had always assumed that such questions went far beyond the boundaries of appropriate friend-to-friend curiosity.

But his respect for Fred's privacy didn't stop him from wanting to ask about certain things. For example, it always struck him as odd that Fred didn't have more friends, or that he rarely spoke about his life before the Shacklestone War. It was as though that entire part of his life was a closed chapter, never to go back to. Well, he WAS feigning loyalty to a psychopathic criminal. I bet he doesn't enjoy dwelling on those times, Ryder reasoned. But I think it's more than that. Maybe he lost someone important to him.

A man as old as Frederick had undoubtedly experienced some losses in his life - but that didn't make imagining the possibilities any more pleasant.

Eventually, Ryder's curiosity started to run away with him and he realised that he was seriously considering asking Fred some questions that might strain their relationship forever. He highly doubted that the vampire would appreciate his nosiness.

Luckily, while he was trying to find a way to broach the topic, it suddenly came up on its own.

A strange and rather alarming incident occurred, which involved, among other things, the resurrection of Anastasia - a witch-dragon who had been one of Fred's enemies during the war. She had been hugely loyal to the vampire crime lord, Sargon. The guy who'd been responsible for the deaths of thousands. Ryder didn't know much about Ana, but based on that fact alone, he could understand why people didn't seem to like her. She was on their side now, but they couldn't forget her past actions.

Once everything had settled down and the world was back to normal (minus the fact that a hated villain was now living in an apartment in the middle of the city), Ryder walked into Fred's house to discuss some work stuff. Normal day. Business as usual.

And he found Fred sitting at the dining table with his chin resting on his hand, gazing out of the window with a distinctly pensive expression.

Ryder made a show of entering the room just in case Fred hadn't heard him coming. 'Hey, man,' he said, keeping his voice light and friendly. 'What's up?'

Fred's eyes flicked towards him. '...Good morning, Ryder.' He spoke evenly, but Ryder didn't miss that it took him longer than usual to answer.

'Anything interesting happen? Since the recent stuff, I mean,' he asked, testing the waters.

'No, it's been a very quiet morning. There is nothing of concern to report.'

'OK, great.' Ryder then proceeded to drop himself onto the couch a short distance from the table where Fred still sat motionless, not looking at him. 'I was just worried. 'Cause it looked like you had something on your mind, but...'

Something in Frederick's face seemed to sharpen, the loss of focus he'd shown when gazing out of the window all but gone. He sat up straighter and started riffling through one of his notebooks. Ryder had a funny feeling that he was just trying to look preoccupied.

'...I have to say, it's strange, seeing Anastasia in the flesh again,' he said slowly, and Ryder nodded.

'Well, she was one of your biggest enemies during the Shacklestone War, right?'

'She was Sargon's 'right-hand'. His most loyal and valued subordinate, even after death. She continued to serve him far longer than she should have been able to.'

Ryder itched to ask exactly what he meant by that, but instinct warned him not to let the conversation stray off the path. 'Yeah. I've only heard bits and pieces about what she was like, but I can understand why nobody likes her much.'

'She was a menace. Thankfully, she's forced to be on our side now. If she betrays us, she gets killed again, which she obviously doesn't want to happen,' said Fred. 'Still... I can't pretend I'm entirely happy. And that's unusual. I should be glad to have another powerful ally, but...' He trailed off, his expression unsure.

Ryder let the silence drag out into an uncomfortable lull, before finally biting the bullet. 'Did she... hurt... someone important to you?'

Fred's eyes weren't focusing on the contents of his notebook anymore. He lifted a pen, almost dreamily, and stuck the back end of it between his teeth.

'...She was mainly responsible for the death of a good friend of mine. Wendigo, a Shifter Dragon I met some years before the war, when both of us were feigning loyalty to Sargon.'

As I thought. Understanding wasn't enjoyable, but it did bring Ryder a feeling of grim satisfaction to know what had been bothering Frederick. Figuring out what to do with the information, however, was a different story. His instinct was to be comforting, but Fred typically didn't do well with comfort - either as the giver or the receiver.

'That sucks,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's irrelevant. Wendigo's death was two years ago.'

'Why does that make it irrelevant? You said it yourself: he was a good friend of yours. It's understandable that seeing Ana again would bring back memories.' He watched Fred slowly bite down on his pen, unintentionally showing the tooth gap on his right side.

'Ana has no choice but to work with us. And her abilities make her next to invaluable. For that reason, I should be grateful to have her around. I should not be thinking about all the reasons I don't want her around.'

Ryder felt a tiny, sad smile tug at the corner of his mouth. 'I don't think anyone's gonna blame you for not being happy about her return. She literally killed your friend.' He leaned forwards slightly, though he was too far away to touch Fred. 'You're a person. You're allowed to be... resentful? Bitter?'

Fred removed the pen from between his teeth. Carefully set it down.

'Thank you for that, Ryder,' he said evenly. 'I suppose I've been feeling ungrateful. Truth be told, Ana did something I can't entirely forgive her for.'

'You want to talk about it?' Ryder ventured. 'Wendigo, or how he died, or... whatever?'

They exchanged a brief glance, and Fred was the quickest to look away.

'No, I don't think there's anything that needs saying.'

'It's not about what 'needs' saying. It's about what might make you feel better. You lost your friend, and now his killer is strutting around the city like nothing happened--'

'Ryder.' This time, for the first time, Fred's voice was coloured with a hint of weary frustration. 'Let it go.'

Ryder hesitated, wanting to push, but also wanting to step away. He didn't know which urge was stronger. In the end, he decided that he'd already pried enough, and if Fred wasn't feeling up to talking any more, then he wouldn't force it.

'OK. But if you ever do want to chat, I'll listen.' That was really all he could do - extend a hand and let Fred know that he could take it anytime.

'I do appreciate that,' Fred replied. He shuffled some stuff on the table and rolled his shoulders, no doubt feeling the effects of sitting there stiffly for too long. Ryder eased back onto the couch and cast his mind around for a different, less personal, topic of conversation. Maybe they both needed something superficial after that.